A Cokeworth Wedding
by ladyoftheknightley
Summary: James and Lily attend Petunia's wedding, which is a world away in more ways than one.


**Disclaimer: **copyright JKR, yo.

* * *

Her dress was peach and sleeveless and, really, not that bad at all. Petunia had many faults, but a lack of taste wasn't one of them. James had barely been able to keep his eyes off her during the ceremony, she'd noticed, but then, part of that might have been because the other bridesmaid was Marge Dursley, Vernon's sister.

Marge was the ugliest person Lily had ever seen. She knew she shouldn't judge people by their appearance, but it was true. And given that Marge had had nothing good to say about the wedding—from Petunia's choice of flowers, to the decision to invite the Evans' cousins from Newcastle ("Militant unionists the lot of them, just _think_ what sort of family Vernon's marrying into!")—she didn't feel overly disposed to finding something nice to say about her.

But despite Marge, and the Dursleys as a whole, and Petunia and everything that had happened there, the wedding had been a success. She was still unable to see what Petunia saw in Vernon Dursley, but it was quite clear that they loved each other. She knew Petunia would rather have not married in Cokeworth, but the old Norman church that still stood near the centre of town had looked beautiful, decked out with flowers and assembled ranks of maiden Aunts dressed in pastel. A friend of a friend had been pressed into DJ service at the reception afterwards, and everyone had danced on the floor of the Parish Hall like it was the ballroom at the Ritz. If nothing else, it had been nice to forget about revision timetables and the impending NEWT exams for a day, and fully immerse herself back into the Muggle world.

And then there was James.

Technically, he hadn't been invited, but Lily had made it quite clear that he would be turning up regardless and in the end Petunia had acquiesced (Lily rather suspected their mother's influence). "But if either of you do anything that shows what _freaks_ you really are, I will never speak to you ever again," she had said, and Lily understood that this was as close to a ringing endorsement of him as she would ever get from her sister.

"You'll need a suit," she had told him, and then three days later had been rather alarmed to discover that he had visited a Saville Row tailor. She'd dragged him to Marks and Spencer's, and made him buy the first off-the-shelf one that fit. He'd visited the Muggle Studies section of the Hogwarts library and read up on Muggle education, selecting three subjects to pretend to be taking as his A Levels. "And if anyone asks me about school, I will pretend I'm too nervous about my upcoming exams to want to talk about them," he said proudly, having asked her if she thought English Literature, History and Biology were a good combination of classes.

Thanks to Sirius's eclectic taste and desire to annoy his parents, he had been able to impress her cousin Elaine with his musical knowledge, and he'd even had a passable conversation about football with her Uncle Walter. He'd nearly floundered when one of Vernon's relations had asked him what car he drove, but he'd replied that he generally walked as much as possible, because it was better for the environment, and the Dursley relation had rolled his eyes about "Those ridiculous hippy-types" and had walked away in disgust before he could trip himself up. Lily could tell that even Petunia had so far been impressed by his ability to fit in with the Muggles (though she also knew that she would never say so).

And she knew that she should've been glad of this. But she wasn't.

She left the ladies' toilets, sneaking around the back wall of the Parish Hall, behind the almost empty buffet tables, and watched him. He was dancing with her Aunt Helen's three year old daughter, who was shrieking with glee as James would pick her up and whirl her round in the air, dipping her low before setting her gently on the floor. "More, more!" she screeched, clapping her hands and bouncing with delight. James picked her up again, this time pantomiming that she was too heavy and that he was staggering under her weight, whereupon Milly started laughing so hard she stopped making any noise at all, utterly ecstatic.

She found herself smiling, and quickly shoved one of the leftover finger sandwiches in her mouth so she wouldn't be caught doing so, and slid down the wall, so she was mostly hidden by the table. She knew it was selfish, but she was sort of jealous of him fitting in so well with everyone present, even the Dursleys. When she'd met his parents, it had been clear to her that she would never, ever be quite right for the Potter family. James's parents hadn't been unpleasant or rude to her—quite the opposite, they had been kind and welcoming and interested in what she had to say, and, really as nice as it was possible to be. It had also been made clear to her that her blood status meant nothing to them, inasmuch as they would never disown James for being with someone who wasn't Pureblood. (She hadn't truly believed that _anyone_ would do this, until Sirius had told her about his cousin, Andromeda, and her muggleborn boyfriend, Ted. And then she had felt very grateful that, whatever their other faults, James's parents did not have the same politics as Sirius's.)

His parents, however, had been startled by her accent, her background, her family and, above all else, her class. She had known the Potters were wealthy, but she couldn't hide her shock at the size and splendour of their house. She'd tried to pass it off as amazement at some of the many magical gadgets and trinkets that littered the house, but she wasn't really sure she'd made much of a job of it. They had been served afternoon tea on the lawn by an actual maid (Mrs. Potter was by all accounts very concerned with the welfare of House Elves; when they had refused point blank to accept payment for services rendered, she had freed them to work for someone else and employed humans as servants, as they would not dream of working for free. To her, this was the obvious solution to the problem; to Lily, it seemed unthinkable that she did not simply choose to do her own cooking and cleaning, getting James and Mr. Potter to pitch in where needed, like her own mother did. But then, her own mother's house did not have twenty-seven bedrooms). Dinner in the evening had had six courses, and more cutlery than she knew what to do with.

She had stayed with them for a few days, and been given her own wing of their house to stay in. She'd initially thought that this was just a figure of speech, but in addition to an en-suite bedroom, she'd had her own lounge and kitchenette, and the whole space was probably at least half the size of her mother's house. Lily's mother worked on the checkouts of the local supermarket; until his death in her second year, her father had worked in a factory, making car engines. James's parents didn't work, technically, although they were both involved In Politics at the Ministry. James always said it like that, like it should be capitalised.

The Evanses had never exactly been poor: there had always been food on the table, and they had usually managed a week's holiday in a caravan in the summertime. They hadn't had much, but even after her father's death, they hadn't been in danger of losing the house (though when the price of petrol had gone up, her mother had sold the car). Compared to other people she'd gone to school with, before Hogwarts, they'd been relatively well-off, living in the nicer part of town, nowhere near Spinner's End. But this was nothing, _nothing_ compared to what James's family had.

His parents had called her witty and charming and intelligent (which she was), and according to James liked her very much (as she liked them, for they were kind and welcoming and friendly), but she knew, deep down, that she would never, ever fit in to with their sort of lifestyle. And there was a mean streak in her that wanted him to feel the same, to be introduced to her family and think that he would never, ever be like them, that he stuck out like a sore thumb and have the whole day be ruined by a sort of nagging sensation that, however nice they were to him, they knew deep down inside that he would never belong.

He didn't deserve it. It was petty, it was mean, and it was spiteful. But it sort of felt like all she had to use against him.

"What are you doing on the _floor_? Do you know how much that dress cost?"

Petunia's voice cut through her reverie, and she looked up, startled. "It is a lovely dress," she agreed, and for once she wasn't lying to appease her sister. It really _was_ a lovely dress.

"So why are you risking ruining it by sitting on the floor?" Petunia sighed. "Honestly, you make so much fuss about having that boy come here, and you're not even with him! If you like him as much as you say you do, you really should go and rescue him."

"From what?"

Petunia bit her lip. "Auntie June has had a bit too much to drink and is making him dance with her to 'Suspicious Minds'."

"Is she doing her Elvis hip-movements again?"

"Yes."

"Oh dear," Lily said, her lips twitching.

"So get yourself up off the floor, and—"

"Tuney?"

"What?"

"Did you ever...I mean, I know you love Vernon, but did you ever wonder what he thought of your...your family?"

"Well I didn't tell him that you're a freak, if that's what you're asking," Petunia replied.

"No," Lily said. "I mean...his family are a bit richer than ours, and..." The Dursleys were middle England through and through, and in the ladies' room, Lily had overheard insinuations from two Dursley relatives she didn't care enough about to remember the names of that Petunia had married him for his money, and that he was her meal ticket out of secretarial school and Cokeworth. She didn't want to say this to Petunia, at least not on her wedding day, and for what it was worth, she genuinely believed that Petunia and Vernon loved each other very much. But her sister had to have known, deep down, what they thought...

Petunia stiffened. "There's nothing wrong with our family—well, _most_ of it—and Vernon thinks so too," she snapped. "Maybe...maybe some people would look down on us, but his mother thinks I look like a lovely bride."

"You do, Tuney," Lily said.

"But _I _ think that as long as you fit in and don't do anything silly that makes you stand out, as long as you behave and are pleasant to people, and don't act like...like..."

"A freak?" Lily asked, but she half-smiled as she said so, and Petunia almost did the same back.

"Yes, that—as long as you do all that, no one can look down on you," she finished. Lily bit back a sigh. Sometimes, she wondered about how healthy it was for Petunia to crave normality so desperately. And, perhaps, how much Hogwarts was to blame for that. "Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why do you ask?" Petunia clarified. "Because if that boy has been saying that you're not good enough for him for some reason—well, he should look at himself, first! For one thing, his hair is _terrible_, not nice and well-groomed like Vernon's at all. You should marry a man who takes pride in his appearance, not one who looks all slovenly like he does."

Lily imagined herself marrying someone like Vernon, and felt the buffet food repeating on her. Then she imagined marrying James, and then she had to stop imagining it, because it made her heart hurt. In a good way.

She used the edge of the table to heave herself up, ignoring Petunia's sigh as she brushed the dust of the floor off her dress. Her sister, she supposed, meant well, encouraging her to leave James for someone else with more class and better hair. Really, it was quite funny. And for Petunia, that was almost sisterly affection. Maybe she'd had too much champagne.

"It was a lovely ceremony," she said, because it was true.

"I should think so," Petunia agreed. "I've spent enough time planning it." She was accosted, then, by a friend from secretarial school, and as the two of them entered into conversation, Lily took that as her cue to leave. There was nothing more to say, really, and that had almost been a nice chat. It would be a shame to push it.

She wandered over to James, who was now talking with her Uncle Walter.

"A'ight, ginge?"

"Hello, Uncle Walter," Lily said, whilst James snorted.

"What?" said Uncle Walter, addressing James.

"I'm not allowed to call her ginger," he explained. "Apparently, that's not her hair colour."

Lily rolled her eyes. "I have _red_ hair. Ginger is a completely different colour, and you're both clearly _blind_ if you can't see that!"

"Yes," said Uncle Walter patiently, "but we're going to call you ginge, because that's what you are. Anyway, you're doing a terrible job of keeping your lad safe."

"I heard you got accosted by Auntie June," she said to James.

"She kept pinching my bum," he explained. "But it's understandable, I do have quite the arse."

"You _are_ quite an arse," she corrected.

"I'll leave you two to it then," Uncle Walter said. "Mind you keep him in line now, lass."

Lily laughed, but James sagged against her when he'd gone. "What?"

"He scares me," James confessed. "He kept calling me a southern pansy and saying 'owt'."

"You are a southern pansy," she said affectionately.

"And he said that with your Dad gone, it was his responsibility to see that you were with someone who was alright. I don't know if I passed the test."

"I think you probably did," Lily said, leaning against him. He wrapped his arms around her and they began to sway together, dancing without listening to the music.

"How do you know?"

"I just do," she said. "Uncle Walter'd let me know if you weren't alright. He's like that."

"There was a small problem."

"What's that?"

"He asked me what football team I supported, and the only one I could remember was Manchester United. And I told him that, and he looked like I'd murdered his mother. Is that bad?"

"Well, yes," Lily smiled, "it's the Toon or nothing. But don't worry," she added, leaning up to peck him on the lips as he mouthed the words, confused. "It's alright. They like you. My family, I mean."

"You're sure?"

"I'm sure," she said. "And—thank you. For everything you did today. You know, faking your A Levels, and buying a suit...dealing with being molested by Auntie Jean, just all of it."

"I liked it," he said. "It was really quite interesting. Especially the bum-pinching!"

"Most action you've seen all year," she said, and he rolled his eyes at her as they swayed together.

"But I'd do whatever you asked me to, you know?" he said after a moment.

She kissed him then, in front of the assembled ranks of family and friends and those who were neither. A proper kiss, and she didn't stop for their tutting and disapproval. She could wait her whole life for someone who was perfect, or who was like her, or who everyone approved of, or who fit a million other criteria that she was supposed to care about. Or she could kiss James Potter in Cokeworth Parish Hall as they both pretended to be Muggles in the Easter holidays before her NEWT exams.

It wasn't even a choice.


End file.
